


Ten Minutes Ago

by a_big_apple



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Ballroom Dancing, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 04:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7961629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_big_apple/pseuds/a_big_apple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Uther gives a ball for all of the eligible youths in the land, so that his son Arthur might finally choose someone to settle down with.  Arthur's having a terrible time, until a beautiful young man no one has ever seen before appears at the top of the stair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Minutes Ago

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Pornalot 2016 Bonus Challenge Four: Parties. Fusion with the 1965 tv version of Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella.

It’s only an hour into the ball, and Arthur is already entirely fatigued.

“You should be dancing,” Uther reprimands as Arthur approaches the throne, and Arthur sighs.

“I’ve been doing nothing but.”

“And have you made any progress?” Uther asks, leaning forward and fixing his hard eyes on his son.

Arthur shakes his head.  “I’m afraid not.”

Uther slumps against the back of the throne again, scowling.  “Every eligible young man and maid in the entire kingdom is here!  All of the nobility’s finest!”

“And yet they all look at me like a prize to be won--or worse yet, a choice piece of meat to be fought over.”  Arthur folds his hands together behind his back to keep himself from crossing them over his chest like a child in a tantrum.  Uther seems to read this in his face, and is unmoved.

“Arthur, it is your duty to marry and produce an heir, to continue our line.  You  _ must make a choice. _ ”

“I understand my responsibilities, Father, but--”  

He is saved by the trumpeters announcing a new arrival and looks up, glad of the interruption.  At the top of the stairs stands a young man, tall and willowy, with dark hair brushed to one side.  He is dressed all in cream and silver and gold, his shoes sparkling like glass against his hose, his doublet trimmed at the neck with plush ermine that highlights his pale, slender throat.  There is a flush of rose touching his cheeks and nose, and the tips of his prominent ears; the color is darker on his lips, parted in awe.  His eyes are wide, and Arthur regrets that from this distance he cannot see the color of them.  

Then those eyes sweep the room and catch on Arthur, and his heart gives a painful throb in his chest.  He leaves a sputtering Uther behind as he crosses the dance floor; the young man descends the stairs, and they meet at the bottom.  Closer up, Arthur can see that his shoes really  _ are _ made of glass--they click softly against each step--and when the man stands before him, his eyes are the color of an overcast sky.  There is no one here he wants to dance with more, and when he holds out his hands, the young man takes them and allows Arthur to sweep him out into the crowd.  

They dance without speaking, without once looking away from each other; the room full of people, their chatter and awkward jockeying, all falls away.  It feels like nothing Arthur has ever felt before, to hold this young man’s hand and waist, to twirl through the room in their own little bubble.  It must be, he thinks, what flying feels like.

After moments or perhaps hours being lost in gray-blue eyes, they wind to a stop and Arthur finds himself alone with the young man in a courtyard garden.  They bow to each other, and at last Arthur finds his voice.

“Thank you most kindly for the dance,” he says, and the young man smiles.

“You are most kindly welcome, Your Highness.”

They still have not looked away from each other, not once, and something about the young man’s gaze is nagging at Arthur.  “Have we met?  Your eyes--I feel we’ve met somewhere before.”

“It’s possible,” comes the quiet reply.  “Everything is possible tonight.”

“Yes,” Arthur agrees.  “Everything has changed since you came.  There’s something about you.”  He can’t articulate it, only take the young man’s hands again; they are warm, and trembling very slightly.  “Are you really here?” he asks, soft with disbelief, “or are you the figure of an enchantment?”

“If it is enchantment, then I hope it is forever,” answers the young man with a fervent look.  As if caught in a dream, Arthur leans in to kiss him, and the man’s head turns perfectly to fit their mouths together like the perfect join of the gears of a clock.  Arthur’s chest feels like a clock too, his heart clanging like joyous bells, ringing out the right time, the right one, here at last.

When they pull apart the young man’s face has flushed pinker, and his eyes glitter, flickers of color in them like firelight.  He is so beautiful, shining in the moonlight like a pearl, that Arthur wonders how any of this can be happening--if he is so desperate to find love that he can’t see clearly.  This unknown young man seems too surprising, too wonderful to be true, and yet Arthur can see the same questions passing through his eyes.  Might two people really find love together in just one night of dancing?  

The man’s trembling has intensified, and Arthur leans in to kiss him again, to reassure or affirm; their lips touch again, electric for all that their kiss is chaste.  Then the warmth of his hands and mouth retreats as the man pulls away.  “I must go,” he says, sobs.  “I’m sorry.  I must go at once!”  

“Wait!” Arthur shouts to his retreating back, too stunned to do more.  “I don’t even know your name!”  The young man disappears from sight as he hurtles through the crowd, and at last Arthur finds his feet and races after.  “Please, wait!”  He hurries through the ballroom, heart in his throat, then bursts through the front doors and out once again into the cool moonlight night.  The young man is nowhere to be seen.

But there, tipped over on the steps, is one shoe that sparkles like glass.


End file.
